


Darla’s Retention Logs

by CameronFoss



Series: The Love of Monsters [7]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: BAMF Alex Danvers, Established Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane/Maggie Sawyer, F/F, Gen, Hurt Alex Danvers, Multi, Original Character(s), Protective Alex Danvers, Space Pirate Alex Danvers, Space Pirates, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameronFoss/pseuds/CameronFoss
Summary: This will be where my graveyard of stories and snippets about Alex and the Exodus/Exodus crew will come to live. So, it's entirely Alex and OC's basically. Really have to have read at least How Monsters are Made for this to make sense!
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Lucy Lane/Maggie Sawyer
Series: The Love of Monsters [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931620
Comments: 87
Kudos: 62





	1. Noamoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Origins of the phrase 'noamoy' and Alex's first real of her being gay and polly to some of the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Faithx5452 and born from the unexpected prompt “Danvers recording another message?” “Better believe it. Must be someone pretty special back home.” And Alex walking in like “they are”, and everyone spinning around like “They? Oh, now you have to share”). They also provided the name! So, extra points.
> 
> Cross posted from Deleted Scenes because I had more to add and figured why not! I only have six fics in this unending series!

Ella turned the unknown machinery over in her hands; once, twice, a third time. Careful eyes scrutinizing the object with a mix of interest and frustration. Lyron, in his typical fashion, strode into her workshop and dumped the thing on the tabletop. The only instruction she received was a gruff _fix this_ , which was decidedly unhelpful.

Fix _what?_

But Ella was much too stubborn to ask for more information. Thus, here she sat, staring at the strange toaster sized object with curiosity. And frustration. 

Lyron was a dick.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Ella didn’t even look up to acknowledge the woman who appeared at her entrance.

She squinted. “No… _Definitely_ not Earth based,” of that, she was sure. Too advanced.

Wren just rolled her eyes, hopping the lip of the doorway and sliding herself onto the workbench, joining El in her fixation on the box. “I thought Alex was working this shift?”

“She is,” she turned it onto its rounded side, trying to determine where to even _begin_ with access its innards. “Running late. She’s in comms.”

Wren swung her legs, biting the inside of her cheek. “She recording another message?” Because she’d been there for her log yesterday, and nothing of note had happened since. So, it had to be a personal message.

“Better believe it,” El was loath to admit it but she may, _potentially_ , need help. But she’d start with Alex– Stars forbid she inflated Dryl’s head another size.

Wren hummed, pushing down the bite of jealousy in her chest. Not just because it was _Alex_ talking to her previous life, but also because she still maintained connection to her previous life. Wren hadn’t been able to maintain the hope required to keep at it – she’d stopped booking the comms room months ago. She had no doubt her boyfriend will have moved on by now. “There must be someone pretty special back home.”

“Oh, they are.”

Wren’s head snapped around with wide eyes – Like she’d been caught in some forbidden act – which, honestly, she kinda had. It had been almost two years since the Exodus took off, and Wren knew next to nothing about Alex Danvers life outside of these walls. The list was literally; Human, DEO, father is Cadmus.

That’s it. The entirety of the personal facts about her life _before_ Wren had obtained in two years. Which, in fairness, was mostly her own fault. It was only in the last couple of months she’d began trusting the human. But gossip was _rife_ on a ship this small, with as much time to kill as they had – she knew plenty about Ella, Mastih, Dunk and the rest of the ‘Team Alex’ people, just from the grapevine. Alex herself? Not so much.

So, being caught talking about her without her present? Her blood pressure skyrocketed.

Unfortunately, instead of a stuttered apology, her dumb mouth produced a very different set of words. “They?”

Ella dropped the unknown object to her lap and fixed her friend with a look. “I’m sorry, now you have to share.”

Alex just shrugged and stepped into the room, already reaching for her coat and safety gear. She was scheduled for maintenance in the engine room today. “None of your business.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella spun in her chair dramatically, doing a 180 until she was facing the human. “You can’t leave us on that kinda cliff hanger!”

Wren frowned, glancing between them. “Wait, you don’t know?” she tilted her head, squinting at the Alstairan who had been friends with Alex for probably the longest? Maybe Freyer beats her – or Drly. But Dryl was weird – she wasn’t even sure they were _friends_. 

“Nope,” Ella popped the p, tilting her head at the human as she shrugged on her overalls, ignoring them as best she could. “Danvers here likes to keep her private life private.”

“But nothing’s private in this tin can.”

“Ms. Secret Special Agent here disagrees,” Ella tilted her head, smiling at Alex’s snort. “Come on, Doc – just give us _something_. Won’t tell anyone, Scouts honor.”

Alex arched an eyebrow. “I somehow doubt you were a Scout.”

“You don’t know my life,” she grinned. “I was _born_ on Earth – I’m very well acclimated.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt _that_ ,” she reached over, grabbing her toolbox and heaving it onto the table. “I just doubt that you wouldn’t have been booted from the program _immediately_.”

“Cause I’m an alien?”

“Because you’re a _pain in the ass,_ ” but she smiled, genuine. Something squirmed in Wren’s gut – she’d been so _fucking_ wrong about this human. She couldn’t even reconcile the image she’d built in her head that first day with this slightly awkward, very handsome, incredibly charming, dork in front of her.

“True, true, and _because_ I’m a pain in the ass, you know I won’t let this ‘they’ stuff go,” she scooted forward on her chair, dragging it a couple of inches closer. Grin wide and shit eating. “Come on Al, I was the one that _made_ you start making them! Just tell me – who are you leaving messages for twice a month?”

Alex huffed a laugh, fingering the lock on her kit, thinking carefully about her audience. About her time left on this ship. About how lonely it could be and how not talking about her family didn’t make missing them any easier, so maybe the opposite would help.

“I don’t always leave messages for the same people,” she started, eyes still on her gear. “I have a sister, a brother, and a… pseudo father figure, who I’ve been trying to leave messages for.” She exhaled, finally turning to face curious eyes. “I’ve been _trying_ to make one for two people who… but I can’t get the words to come out right.”

A little more emotion laden then El was anticipating, she tipped her head to the side, softening her eyes. “Hey, Al, I’m sorry you don’t have to-“

“Nah, you’re good,” she crossed her arms, leaning against her workbench, opposite Ella’s. “Its… for my girlfriends. Partners. Whatever – it’s for them.”

“Plural?”

Wren’s voice contained nothing but curiosity, giving Alex the space to smile, elaborate. “Yeah – I’m polyamorous? Lucy and Maggie… they’re back home. _They’re_ who I keep trying to talk to. It’s just…” she shrugged, looked out the open hatch. “Too hard? To fit everything in my head into words. Cause, you’re right. They are,” she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Pretty fucking special.”

Ella struggled to keep open affection off her face. Alex had been many things over the last year – none of them were this openly smitten. Openly… in love. She didn’t know the gruff woman had it in her – it was _delightful_. And she fucking deserved it.

But Wren had a pinched forehead, mismatched eyes swirling in confusion. “You think that they’ll be… I don’t know. Waiting for you?”

Ella sharp look over her shoulder told her that was rude, but Alex just shrugged a little, lip pulling up at one side. “I don’t know – maybe not,” she took a breath, grabbing her kit and straightening. “But _I’m_ not giving up. They’re…” she smiled again, even as she searched for words, something in her eyes clenching Wren’s heart. “I guess I just love em.”

And then she shrugged.

Like it was that simple.

Like two years of absence, of waiting, of being tortured on a ship millions of lightyears away, was no obstacle.

“You know,” something in Wren’s voice had Alex hesitating – ready to get to work. “On my planet, there was a word for relationships like that.”

Alex frowned, glancing at El quickly. “Queer relationships?”

 _That_ wrenched a snort out of her mouth, waving a hand in front of her as if to dispel the very thought. “No – _God_ no. I mean relationships that make no sense – that… are unbreakable. Even with unbeatable odds.”

“Oh,” Alex shifted, uncomfortable suddenly with the direction of this conversation, and being at the center of it. This felt like _emotions_ territory.

But Ella shit eating grin was back – enjoying her friends discomfort in this particular context. Alex was great, but she was also _shockingly_ easy to tease. And this just recked of teasing potential. “What’re they called?”

“A Noamoy.”


	2. Lincoln

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short piece about how Lincoln ended up on the Exodus

The smell of the Pit is what takes getting used to. The screaming and crying of the dying, that eventually faded to background noise. The rattling of chains and cages sinking to the back of your mind. Necessary for your sanity. But the smell? The smell of rotting flesh and death. You never got used to that.

Leaning against the wall of her cage, she started again; left turn, two doors than a right, big iron gate at the end. Code for the door is, lopsided alpha, x, squiggly pi, upside-down F, side-ways T and then the button on the bottom of the panel. Three doors then-

“ _Get in_ ,” the snarl was also familiar to Alex, but the presence of the large alien so close to her cell made everything tense. He was dragging a chained man by his bicep – the door was flung open and in he went, crashing to his knees.

His hands were covered in fresh blood. His shoulder was exposed – a brand new laceration carefully carved into his skin. He was almost out of room. Alex wondered what happened when a fighter lasted longer than the length of their flesh.

She waited until she could no longer hear the footsteps of the guard before moving, shuffling to rest her spine against the length of the cage shared with her neighbor.

“Lincoln,” she spoke quietly, evenly, enough that her other neighbor, dead asleep, didn’t stir. “You okay dude?”

“No.” Fair – no one in this room would ever be okay again. “But I am uninjured.”

“Good,” she felt his weight thump against the other side of the metal mesh separating them. “I’m sorry.”

“That I won?”

She snorted, leaning her elbows on her knees and examining her bleeding blistered wrists. “That you had to fight to begin with.” Because if Lincoln was here, that meant someone else did not return to their cage.

“My people,” he stopped. Cutting himself off. Even though they’d shared wall for over three weeks now, she’d never gotten anything about his people out of him. Or his species. She did know that he wasn’t human, because the odds in his fights were never stacked against him like they were her. His species, whatever it was, had some kind of edge over humans. “My people are fighters. It is what we are.”

That explains the lesser betting pool. “No people are solely fighters,” she tipped her head, so she could just see the back of his shoulder out of the corner of her eye. “I was a fighter, back home, so were my partners. But I was also a doctor, a friend, a sister,” she picked at the blood under her nails – two days old, from her last fight. “We are more than killers Linc, no matter what this place says.”

Silence. She’d grown used to the extended nothing from the strange man. He carried a kind of intensity she’d never really encountered. Silent yet loud, like he had everything fuming under his skin.

Then, “partners?” The way he emphasized the plural made her tense. Right. You never know the culture you are engaging with.

But if she was going to die in this Pit, she wasn’t going to die denying her truth. “Yeah, both of em were warriors – Maggie was a cop, Lucy a… coordinator for the military, basically.” _God_ it felt good to talk about them. Ky, the crew, the ship? They were off limits – she couldn’t dare breath a word of the Exodus, hovering just out of atmo, lest someone overhear. But her family back on earth? They were well out of reach of this place’s clutches.

More silence – the sound of his breathing barely audible over the rattling and screaming.

“They are also female?” But it didn’t sound like an accusation, like judgment. It sounded like revelation. Like… shock and relief.

“Yes,” she pressed her temple against the metal, thinking about them. Letting Maggie’s dimples, Lucy’s eyes, flood her mind. Let that settle the pain raging through her. “I have not seen them in a long time.”

“I-“ she didn’t have to see to know that he was swallowing heavily. She waited patiently while he pressed his head back, hard, to the cage wall, eyes squeezed shut. “I had someone, before this. They… were deemed unacceptable,” another pause. “When we were discovered they… he was killed,” a slow exhale. “And I became _splita_.”

This was the most she’d ever heard him talk in a row, but she couldn’t resist asking. “Splita?”

“I was… of the Trigedakru then I was not. I was… left behind. _Banau_. Banished.”

“I’m so sorry,” whispered, because the reverence which he spoke of his partner made her ach. Made her rage at his loss, this strange man who happened to be a prisoner next to her, and barely spoke the first week. Who came back with blood caked hands and stared at them blankly for days before he was finally allowed to wash them. This alien who, suddenly, sharply, felt important.

“Where I come from,” she started, slow. “My type of relationship isn’t always accepted,” she paused, thinking about Maggie’s growing up, Lucy laboring under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. The fact that their type of relationship made them vulnerable to many attacks. “But we still live out in the open. People,” she paused, treading carefully. “Can have relationships with whomever you choose. It might not always be easy, but… there are communities where you’re protected. Free.”

“I will never be free,” but it was spoken like a mantra – empty words he’d been repeated since his first moments here.

“Yes, you will,” she leaned her head back against the bars. Started again. Left turn, two doors than a right, big iron gate at the end. “Cause I’m not dying here. And when I go,” lopsided alpha, x, squiggly pi, upside-down F, side-ways T. “I’m taking you with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! To those that I told I’d be posting something lighter... this isn’t that! I have a longer one shot that needs some more work. Planned on doing it today but my wife took me on an unplanned road trip - I’m posting from rural NZ atm! Sorry! Hope this tides you over :)


	3. Dryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short piece about the origin of Dryl and Alex's friendship.

Dryl had known Alex Danvers a long time.

She was the first of the Exodus crew to talk to him like a person. Not as though he was one decision away from embodying the fascism of his people. Not as though he was a walking reciprocal of information or resources. Not as though he was simply the strange alien out of tune with society. It had been… nice. But he’d buried that response immediately. Pressed it deep into the recesses of his mind and ignored it.

In the early days of the Exodus, it was survival of the fittest. And his people were the fittest, for better or for worse.

So, despite Alex Danvers small acts of kindness – picking him up after being shouldered out of the way in the halls – offering half her (already scarce) rations when his were stolen – patching up a head wound after a minor altercation with another crew member – he’d largely ignored her. She was a target for persecution, so his instincts informed him she was best avoided. And he listened to his instincts.

He listened for months. Even though she was the only one to listen when he spoke. The only one who even understood what he said. At the outset of any direct interaction, he’d nod curtly, turn on a heel and leave, lest he become associated with the only human on board.

He’d listened to those instincts right up until he was shoved into a storage room.

While Tormocks were indeed the fittest – a super race of aliens who’d perfected their DNA, made themselves unconquerable, many millennia ago – they were also not skilled in combat. Their battles were waged with technology, with intellect. Not with bare fists in poorly lit chemical closets. So, it took his opponent little effort to force him against the wall, hand tight around his throat.

“Your people took _everything_ from mine,” this close, he couldn’t even identify which people that was. Tormock took a great many things from a great many planets, without regard for the destruction left in their wake. It could be any number of aliens with misplaced rage currently cutting off his oxygen supply. “I may not be able to do much on this box of death,” their breath was foul, invading his sinuses, sharp and sickening. “But at least I can avenge my forefathers.”

Black spots started to appear at the corners of his vision. It occurred to him that he was dying. Would be dead within fifty-five seconds if they maintained the pressure currently being exerted. Given that the alien seemed rather motivated, Dryl had little doubt they would succeed. 

_Fifty-four._

_Fifty-three._

_Fifty-two-_

The pressure vanished.

Fingers slacking and then slipping away, the alien slumping, lifeless, to the ground.

And behind him stood Alex Danvers. Cheeks sinking in. Both eyes bruised, though one darker than the other. There was bandaging on her right hand from when it was crushed under a boot last week, and Dryl knew her ribs were still strapped from an elbow to her side during mess. But she was standing tall, and stoic. Eyes hard, even behind bruises. Fingers still wrapped around the syringe she’d plunged into his attackers’ neck.

“You okay?”

Coughing and wheezing, he couldn’t get out an answer. Though, he figured, that was answer enough.

“We need to get out of here,” and suddenly, her hand was around his bicep, leading him out of the small room and down the corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” But she ignored him, tugging and leading until they were far enough away that Alex could breath, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. “Where is your guard?”

“Asleep,” she spoke to the ceiling. “Lewis always falls asleep on the night shift – I try to take a walk.”

“Is that not risky?” he was sure they would kill her if they ever found her wandering the halls unsupervised.

“Probably,” she pushed away, shaking out her arms and glancing down the next turn. “So, I should get back. Are you going to be alright on your own?”

“Yes,” probably. His throat felt tight, sore, but he’d live.

“Good,” and then she turned moving to sneak back to her post.

His mind informed him that this was her responding to his behavior. The expectation that he would brush her off now engrained. Because that is what he had done the countless other time’s she’d engaged with him. Because that is what every other person on this ship does every time she engages with them. Alex Danvers is a ghost – invisible until needed. Only existing inside of her ability to heal, or as a punching bag – the living embodiment of the Exodus crew’s pain. The outlet for that pain.

“Wait,” he didn’t quite touch her. He didn’t like to be touched, so he didn’t touch others unless asked. “Why would you help me?”

She turned, looking at him with dark eyes. “Why not?” As if it was that simple. As if helping him was not a choice, just the way it was. That was the answer that finally silenced the instincts screaming in his mind, demanding avoidance.

But he didn’t share that thought. Instead, he asked the other burning words on his tongue. “Do you normally walk around with drugs?”

She smiled. He’d hazard it was something like a grin. “You don’t?” The first joke among many his friend would tell, and he would not understand.


	4. Freyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short piece about the origin of Freyer and Alex's friendship based on a prompt by   
> Soatb23: "What was Alex and Freyer’s first couple interactions like?"
> 
> TW: Slightly worse than canon typical violence? Nothing more than What Monsters are Made of though

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! New Zealand got our first community cases in months (3 people in one family tested positive) so we have gone into a week long lockdown (non-essential businesses closed, no leaving your house, masks on transport etc). Thus, I'm working from home! Which gives me a little more time to write, hence my midweek post :D 
> 
> Soatb23, I know you intended for this to be like, a normal interaction. But, as we have established, angst is my life blood.

Freyer had been alive a long time. A _very_ long time. Lived more than her fair share of lifetimes and seen her fair share of mistakes. But the worst of her regrets? The thing that kept her up at night for four years and beyond? The event that tasted like copper on the back of tongue?

That she was on the wrong side of the Exodus when the riot started.

She had no reason to be on the _right_ side of the ship. She’d charged herself with gathering as many of the unoccupied children as she could. There was a semi-large room at one end of the vessel that she commandeered, making sure that the small ones were fed and watered and had someone to look to. The necessary work that no one had done, no one would do, everyone too preoccupied with their own pain, their own grief.

So, Freyer was busy with them, making sure that hands were held and tears were dried, when the shouting started.

She’d been alive a long time. She knew what the sound of a riot when she heard it.

It started low – a rumble. Then the roar of a crowd. Feet pounding on the metal surface of the ship as more people rushed to see – many to join. Groups like that _thrummed_ with energy – giving the ship its own heartbeat, thumping in everyone’s veins. 

So, she was on the wrong side of the ship when the riot started. But she didn’t stay there.

She passed Lucas Powell back to his older brother – still a child himself really, but the oldest here. The only one she could lock eyes with and order to stay – keep an eye on the young one’s while she was gone.

Because, she may have been on the wrong side of the ship when the riot _started_ , but she was not going to let it finish without her.

The ship was large, but easy to navigate. Designed so that everything flowed to the main hall (unlike the deliberately winding halls of the Exodus II). That combined with the thundering noise made it easy to locate the mob.

So did the blood sprayed on walls, smeared along the floor of the hallway she was running down – thickening as she traveled towards the central rooms.

The stragglers at the back, leaning up on toes to try and get a view without getting too close, were easy to get by. Inside the main bay, that’s when she had to really push to get through. Shoved by the rowdy, the hissing, the furious swarm of aliens all seeking revenge – saturated in fear and retribution.

At the center of the violence was a human. The only human on board.

Freyer would have known her anywhere – she’d been in the first cell liberated on Day Zero. Watched the human kill the Cadmus guards, watched her force open their prison. Listened to her order the Starhavenite to get everyone off the ship while she tried to stop the launch. So, Freyer had committed the strange, quiet human to memory. Noticed her as she navigated the ship, careful and silent and suspicious. It was impossible for the empath _not_ to notice her - the stench of guilt clung to her like smog, clogging Freyer’s mind whenever she got too close.

And now, Freyer missed the guilt, because the waves of helpless terror rolling off the bloodied, beaten woman was much, _much_ more potent. Her hands were bound, giving her no protection against the boot that slammed into her stomach with enough force to lift her off the metal floor, thumping down to the gratified roar of the mob.

What had Freyer pushing aside her calmer demeanor – locating the carefully controlled aggression beneath – was the loose rope looped around her neck. From the bruises blooming violently around her throat, the human had been _dragged_ here by it.

“Hey!” She snarled, pushing past the last row of instigators, ignoring the swell of indignation at her interruption. “Stop! Just,” she got between the man about to slam another boot into the helpless human and raised her hands. “Stop! You’ll kill her!”

The man before her, large and horned and furious, didn’t even blink. “That’s the goddamn point!” His roared response greeted with incensed shouted approval from the crowd.

“Get outta the way,” the Yalrt advanced on her, wild eyes racking her form, still standing protectively over the coughing human. “Before we remove ya.”

She knew, intellectually, that the only reason she wasn’t being bodily removed was her species – even the lowest aliens knew better than to mess with her kind. The stories around their dead, their culture, giving her enough hesitation room to dampen the crowd. But she could only absorb so much rage, vengeance. And the space was _steeped_ in it.

“I won’t allow you to kill her,” she locked milky eyes with his black ones, steeling herself.

“She’s human!” A human who rolled to her side, the coughing bringing up enough blood that even Freyer knew was concerning. “And she works for the _government_.”

“Killing her solves _nothing_ ,” she protested.

Someone in the crowd snarled, echoed by several. The tension is the room grew – weakening the fragile pause she’d created.

“Her kind _kidnapped_ us! Her organization disappeared plenty more.” The first one, the biggest, took a mincing step forward, advancing into her personal space. “I want blood, and she’s already leaking.”

“What is going on here?” Everyone looked over at the new alien. Large, serious man with a gruff deep voice. Intimidating, especially for a Starhavenite. “Who is this?” Passive eyes dragged to the wheezing human bleeding out. Freyer couldn’t even tell what the worst injury was – her bruised windpipe, the damage to her stomach, the blood pouring from her nose, dripping from her mouth. But she didn’t need to understand human biology to know that it was bad.

“Don’t know,” gruffed a smaller aggressor, small eyes pinched and furious. Bloody fist waved down at their victims. “Human, DEO. A waste of resources. We were just disposing of her.”

The new man crouched, making Freyer turn to watch. But the air of authority around him had her holding her tongue, resisting a protest as he inspected the injured woman with unaffected eyes. “Who are you?”

The human coughed once more, blood painting the floor as she sucked in a tight breath. Bound hands braced against the ground as she managed to look up, meet his eyes. Freyer was surprised by the determination flaring behind them – by the strength. “Alex,” the single word was harsh, forced out of a constricted, raw throat.

His head tilted. “Why should we let you live?”

Freyer sucked in a breath, ready and willing to say something. Anything. But then someone else was stumbling into the loose parameter forming around the human. Freyer recognized her, just vaguely, from the cell. Lyra.

“She’s a doctor!” the rushed information had the man raising his head, appraising the other Starhavenite. She looked manic, panic hedging her entire appearance. Wide pale eyes flicking between the human and the man, looking for all the world like she’d rather be anywhere else. “A xeno-biologist. She- she could help.”

“You vouch for her?”

A pause. A pause so long that Freyer stepped forward, just in front of the new figure. “I will,” she spoke clearly, impressing all the authority of her people into her tone. Using her heritage for the first time in a decade – borrowing from the respect her kind demanded. “I will vouch for her.”

Steady eyes slowly slid to her, evaluating. “Why?”

She narrowed her eyes back. “Why not?”

“Very well,” he stood, calm and collected. “The human shall live.”

A snarl, the largest of the men advancing fast and violent. When he hit the ground, with was with a muted thump. Dead. It took the crowd a collective minute to realise that the new man had casually, calmly, snapped his neck.

The Starhavenite brushed his hands against his pants, as if the act of murdering the other alien had dirtied him somehow. “No one shall touch the human,” he declared, watching the room at large settle. Many take a quick step back as his eyes skirted them. “She will be guarded. She will not roam free. But she will live.” And with that determination, his eyes locked with Freyer. She met them with as much regality as she could manage. “Take her away – I would prefer she survive. We will need medical expertise.”

Nodding, Freyer quickly reached down, nodding for Lyra to help.

Quickly, efficiently, they dragged the bleeding human to her feet, hands tucked under her arms to keep her upright. She could barely keep her feet under her in this state. Fortunately, the crowd parted like the red sea as they passed – no one prepared to finish the job they started. Not with the declaration by their emerging (terrifying) leader.

By the way, in case you were wondering, Freyer’s second greatest regret?

That she didn’t notice the ten-year-old with the dark hair and darker eyes in the crowd until it was all over. That she didn’t get the chance to forcibly remove her from the sight of Alex Danvers being beaten to near death and dragged by the throat through the halls of a ship that wanted her blood. Because that little kid? She would grow up with nightmares of her mothers murder haunting the edges of her nightmares. 


End file.
